Blood Brothers
by Lunar1
Summary: Vimes mentions his mate 'Iffy Scurrick' in Night Watch and a 'Mrs. Scurrick' is on the widows list in Men at Arms. So here's a story of friendship tested to the limits, death and beyond! Finished!
1. The Beginning

The cattle and carts rattled and clattered down Cockbill Street filling the busy thoroughfare with noise. Unnoticed by the cattle drivers and the animals the two boys sat on the dusty pavement, one of them eating an apple. The other eyed the fruit hungrily.

"Ah, come on Iffy. Just let me have a bite," wheedled the fruitless one.

"Not a chance, Vimesy!" said Iffy through a mouthful of apple, "You were just too slow."

The one known as Vimesy bore this patiently despite his grumbling stomach and skinny appearance. Iffy was a year older than him and despite being only seven had a reputation for being 'cool.' Simply being seen with Iffy was going to increase young Vimes's street credibility for a considerable amount of time. It was thanks to his mother really that Vimes was here at all, living next door she had introduced Sam to Iffy's mother as 'a playmate of around the same age' and as ususal the boys had been sent out into the street to play together.

"Fancy a game of Dead Rat Conkers?" said Vimes, trying to drag his gaze away from the apple being slowly devoured.

"Nah," said Iffy, "There's William Scuggins. Let's go play hopscotch." Iffy stood up and threw the core away, and Vimes followed him across the street to the chalk outline, where Scuggins was already lying on squares four and five, frothing at the mouth as usual.

Vimes was /good/ at Ankh-Morpork hopscotch and Iffy watched impressed as the smaller boy hopped and spun his way up and down the chalk grid. He kept poker-faced, however as a victorious Vimes turned to him for approval. "Hhm." Iffy said and then took a little pity as the small boy's face fell. "Good."

"Oi!" shouted someone further up the street, Scuggins had obviously been noticed and the children scarpered,

Vimes fell into step behind Iffy. "Our Mam says you go to the school down the road," said Vimes, "What's it like?"

"S'alright," said Iffy after a few moments thought, "If you keep out of the way of the bigger lads. Why, are you going?"

Vimes looked proud. "Yeah," he said, "Our Mam says I can start next week. She's seen Dame Bridges about it."

Iffy looked sideways at the younger boy and made an executive decision. "Fancy walking to school with me?"

Vimes's wide eyes and sudden smile gave Iffy all the answer he needed and he laughed. "Yes please!" breathed Sam Vimes.

  
  


Sam Vimes's mother wiped his nose and pulled the too small shirt down to a more respectable level. "You be good, our Sam," she said, "Make your Dad proud."

Vimes nodded. "Yes Mam," he said as his hair was brushed flat.

"Now, off you go with Iffy. Be careful!"

"He will, Mrs. Vimes!" said Iffy cheerfully and he took Sam Vimes by the shoulder. "Come on, we've got to run."

"Why?" said Vimes.

"'Cos we want to get there early," explained Iffy.

They hurried into the school yard and Vimes was herded towards the smallest classroom. "This is where Dame Bridges teaches. You stay in her class until you're ten. And then Mr. Parkes takes you 'till you're fourteen."

"Right," said Vimes and he was herded into his seat.

"Wait here," advised Iffy, "Ev'ryone'll come in in half a minute. Just sit here."

"Okay," said Vimes and waited.

  
  


School wasn't what young Vimes had expected. He was fairly good at reading, 'riting and 'rithmatic for a boy raised in Cockbill Street but he was not very adept at avoiding the bullies that ruled the school yard. Iffy helped him when he could, but it was hard for the new kid to avoid them. His mother said nothing about the bruises, as was the Cockbill Street way, as was the /Vimes/ way. You looked after yourself and you never asked for nothing from nobody, least of all from your mother. Vimes knew that he would have to learn to sort out the problem for himself.

And so he was running for his life again, trying to make it home before the impossibly long-legged pursuers caught him and administered the ritual beating. Vimes didn't think he could stand another night sewing his torn shirts and he ran as fast as his short legs could carry him.

It was not going to be fast enough. They were close behind him as he sprinted around the corner. "Hey!" someone yelled and Vimes saw Iffy waving at him from the back of a cart. He leapt up onto the back of the cart and hid behind the boxes where Iffy was concealed. "Thanks," he whispered. 

"You owe me one," said Iffy and Sam nodded. Of course, that was how things were supposed to go. No one did anything for nothing.

The other boys had caught up and slid to a halt, wondering where their quarry had gone. Sam Vimes had been busy looking at the contents of the boxes. It was a squishy red fruit. Tomatoes. He slipped his hand into one of the boxes and drew back his arm, taking aim...

"Sam!" hissed Iffy, "You can't!"

"Shut up Iffy," said Vimes firmly and drew back his arm again.

Splat! The tomato hit the tallest of the boys on the back of his head.

"Hey!" shouted someone. Splat! Another tomato hit him in the mouth.

"I can't believe you're doing this!" said Iffy.

"Come on!" said Vimes letting another tomato fly. Iffy picked up a tomato gingerly and then threw it with a cry. 

"Oi!" someone yelled and Vimes looked up to see the probable owner of the cart running straight towards them.

"Run!" Iffy cried.

"No," said Vimes, "I've got a better idea. We're only small. If we get into the boxes we might escape without a pasting from that lot." He nodded towards the older boys.

Iffy looked from the boys heading towards them, dripping tomato and then at the face of the cart driver. The driver hadn't seen the two lads on the cart, only those on the street and Iffy grinned suddenly. Vimes was already clambering into a box, the fruit squishing underneath him. Iffy jumped into the box beside him and they crouched on the smashed fruit.

"Y'know Vimesy, everyone round here reckons you're simple. But I'm beginning to think summat else."

"Thanks," whispered Vimes as a lurch meant the cart had started to move. Iffy risked a glance over the top of the box.

"We let it go on a few more streets and then we jump off," he said.

"Okay," said Vimes.

"One, two, three, JUMP!"

They hit the street and rolled back onto their feet. "Hey, Sam," said Iffy, "You're covered in tomato."

"You too," said Sam and they both started to laugh uncontrollably.

"You don't have any brothers do you Sam?" asked Iffy when they had stopped laughing.

"No," replied Vimes, "Do you?"

"Loads," said Iffy, "But I don't like 'em. Do you want to be my brother instead?"

"Yeah, alright," said Vimes, grinning yet more broadly. Iffy held out his hand and Vimes shook it gingerly. The tomato juice dribbled down their arms and Iffy laughed again. "Looks like blood, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," said Vimes.

"So now we're blood brothers, like." 

"Yeah," said Vimes again, this time with even more enthusiasm.

  
  



	2. First Test

Iffy was waiting on the street corner for Sam as he came out of school. He waved the cigarette packet in offering, but Sam shook his head. "Me Mam says they're bad for you."

"Your Mam!" snapped Iffy, "It's always your bloody Mam!"

"Sorry, Iffy," said Vimes in a hurt voice and Iffy subsided a bit. In the years since the day on the back of the tomato cart Iffy had grown tall, and handsome in a vague kind of way. Vimes was still shorter than Iffy, although he was starting to get the gangly look of most young men of a certain age. Iffy had a scrubby moustache and a bit of a beard, whereas Sam's chin was still smooth. But the most visible difference was the way they walked. Vimes was hesitant and his face was mild and smiling, whereas Iffy walked as if he owned the streets and his face was set in a sullen scowl, jaw clamped around the smoking cigarette. Vimes trailed after him like a useless shadow.

"Where're we going, Iffy?" he asked after a while.

"Why do'y wanna know?"

Vimes hesitated. 'Because me Mam worries if I'm back late' was not, he judged, a good thing to say at this point. "Just wondering."

"We're going to meet Spider. Well, I am, and you're going to sit outside and wait for me like the good boy you are and then we're going to see... someone else."

"Oh," said Sam, his mind racing. Spider was the leader of street gang that Iffy and Sam were nominally members of. Well, Sam was occasionally a member. Iffy was decidedly more involved with Spider's crowd nowadays and Sam buried whatever his real feelings about the gang were in order to keep his best friend happy.

They had reached wherever they had been heading for and Iffy stood in a shadowy doorway for a moment. "I won't be long," he said, "And then we can head onwards." It was the old Iffy speaking for a moment before the tight-faced stranger took control again and Sam Vimes smiled and nodded. 

"Okay," he said, sitting on the doorstep. "I'll be right here."

Iffy nodded and went inside. Vimes waited for a few moments and then dropped his carefully blank and bemused face and put his ear to the door. He might play simple Vimesy quite a lot of the time but he wasn't entirely stupid. He knew that this meeting was about the forthcoming battle for supremacy between two of the street gangs in the Shades; Spider's gang and the Skats. As one of Spider's lieutenants Iffy was obviously discussing which members of the gang were going to be present in the decisive battle.

"Who've we got?" Spider growled. Iffy read the list of names. "We need at least one more," hissed the gang leader and Iffy thought for a moment 

"There's the Spatchcock twins," he said.

Spider growled. "They're useless!"

"There's always Vimesy," said Iffy. Outside Vimes stiffened.

"Which one's he?"said Spider.

"The skinny kid that follows me around."

"Can he fight?"

"Yes. He's surprisingly good at it. And he's too simple to do anything much except what he's told."

Vimes reeled as if he'd been slapped. This was Iffy talking, his best mate, his blood brother, Iffy. He pressed his ear back to the wood trying to swallow down the feelings of shock and hurt.

"You trust him?" Spider asked.

"He's a friend." 

"Then we'll have him on board. Now, you know where and when?"

Vimes stopped listening, heart still aching from Iffy's early remark. The door opened and Iffy stepped outside into the cool air. 

"Coming Vimesy?" he said smiling. 

"Yeah," said Vimes and his depressed air got through to Iffy.

"Hey, what's up man?"

"Nothing," said Vimes quickly. "Where are we going now?"

"To meet the others," said Iffy.

Vimes stopped suddenly and span his friend against the wall. "I know you think I'm simple Vimesy," he said roughly, "And maybe I am, but I'm not /stupid/. I know that you are using the street fight to try and stage a take over from Spider. It's bloody obvious. Who've you got on side? And when were you planning on telling me this?"

Iffy stared in shock at his friend. It was one of the longest speeches Sam Vimes had ever made in one go and he blinked at him. "I was going to tell you now," he said, "Wonse devised the plan of using the fight to get rid of Spider. He's good at plans. As for who I've got on side... well, nearly everyone. And we can take out those we haven't."

"You trusted Wonse?" said Vimes incredulously.

"Yeah, he's a clever kid."

"Try cunning," said Vimes in a voice as hard and cold as steel. He sighed. "What are you going to do about Spider? Kill him in the melee? Then what'll you do?"

"I'm not gonna kill him!" said Iffy, "Just get rid of him. And then I'll be gang leader. King of the streets." There was a note of pride in his voice that shocked Sam to the core. "Hey. We're here," said Iffy, putting out his hand to stop Sam Vimes from walking on.

Iffy pushed open a door and Vimes stepped inside. It was a tiny room, perhaps even smaller than his mother's front room at home. There were now ten boys crammed in the small space, Big Dave, Bigger Dave, Fiver, Nigel, Tony, Other Sam, Jackson, Iffy, Vimesy.and Lupine Wonse. The traditional packet of ciggies was offered around and this time Vimes took one and lit it. Iffy nodded to the smallest boy. "Carry on, Wonse."

"Right," said Wonse, "Bigger Dave and Iffy, you will have to take down Spider. The rest of us are going to ambush the Skats. We can leap out of the alleys and sweep round them in a classic pincer movement."

Vimes stared at the other teenagers. Wonse, in his hand-me-down trousers and patched shirt, could hardly be more than ten. His young face was shining with excitement. Normally a kid like Wonse would have discovered round about now what the traditional gang activity was when bored, which was to idly set upon the youngest member. But the older boys were watching him now with rapt attention, listening to his plan. Vimes could hardly believe it. But then, Wonse was a known intellect. He went to a real school where they learnt languages, tactics and history, rather than just getting the thorough grounding that Vimes received in the three 'Rs. 

"No weapons," said Iffy sharply, "We've agreed. Just fists and feet."

"Yeah, and knees and teeth and all the rest," said Other Sam and the boys laughed.

"Yeah," agreed Iffy, "That's about right. Well... you know where and when. I guess you can have the night off, lads. Get prepared." Iffy performed a sort of complicated salute, which was half-heartedly returned by the other boys. It dawned on them they were truly free to go and they wandered away in pairs.

Vimes stood stock still for a moment. "This is absolutely bloody mad."

Iffy laughed. "Not scared about the fight are you Vimesy?"

"No!" snapped Vimes and he strode out onto the street.

"Hey! Wait up Sam!" shouted Iffy but Sam Vimes was already gone, striding away down the street.

People often said Sam Vimes was stupid, mostly because when asked his opinion about anything he tended to reply 'well... me Mam says..." and didn't often have an opinion on anything that his mother didn't. But people often didn't realise that simple didn't mean stupid. Nearly twenty years in the future people would still be making the same mistake with Carrot, with unpleasant consequences. Sam Vimes, despite a friendly smile underneath his scruffy mop of brown hair was just as street wise as the rest of them, perhaps more so and he was better than good in a street fight. He stormed into his front room and his mother looked up from her sewing.

"Whatever's the matter Sam?" she said.

There was a bag of rags on the table and Sam picked it up easily. He had an evening job delivering the rags to a factory in Nap Hill. "Nothing."

His mother smiled a little sadly. "Can you sort your own tea tonight?"

Sam met her eyes and knew what she was really saying. "Yeah, that's fine," he said, knowing tonight he would go hungry. He hurried out into the streets once more.

  
  


It was tomorrow and all through his lessons Sam Vimes had been wishing that time would slow down, or maybe stop. Now the final bell had been rung and everyone else was hurrying away from the place of learning in joy. Vimes dragged his feet and walked as slowly as he could towards the gate. Iffy was waiting for him, the cigarette butts around his feet testament to his nervousness.

"Hey," he said shortly, "Are you ready for tonight?"

Vimes said nothing as they walked away. He'd spent all day rehearsing this conversation and now he was here he couldn't remember any of the things he'd planned to say. They paced in silence and had almost reached the agreed meeting point when Vimes noticed that Iffy was fiddling with something in his pocket.

"What've you got in your pocket?" Vimes asked.

"Nothing," said Iffy with a quick smile, withdrawing his hand. But Vimes was sure it was the kind of 'nothing' he had said to his mother last night.

Something snapped and Vimes turned on his friend, spinning so fast that Iffy was helpless to stop Vimes from grabbing his hand and squeezing it so hard that his fingers uncurled in pain. Vimes bent and retrieved what it was that had fallen with a clatter to the floor. It was a switchblade. Iffy met his eyes unwillingly and quailed at the expression on Sam Vimes's face.

"You're going to stab him," said Vimes, his voice low and quiet and for the first time in his life Iffy felt scared of the younger man. "You're going to stab Spider aren't you?"

"No!" shouted Iffy, his nervousness betrayed by his sudden shout, "I just wanted to be sure... If me and Bigger Dave can't overpower him."

"There's two of you! You said no weapons!" 

Iffy realised he was backing away from someone who was at least four inches shorter and a good deal skinnier. He tried to reassert his position. "C'mon Sam. It'll be worth it, whatever happens. We'll be... y'know, top of the pile. People'll respect us. We'll be the boss of the streets-"

Iffy never got time to finish because at this point Vimes leapt on him with a cry, knocking him flat on the floor. "We!" Vimes shouted, "We! You, y'mean! Gods Iffy, what's happened to you? What does it matter? Why do you need to be 'the boss?' Who's gonna care? There'll still be no food on the table, too much tax to pay and too many kids playing in the filth on the damn streets no matter which one of us says he rules 'em!"

Iffy spat blood onto the street and said in the coldest voice he could manage. "You're just a kid Sam, you don't understand what it's like... you never come with us at night. When we're on the streets at one in the morning... and no one'll come near us, 'cos they respect us-umph!"

Vimes had turned his friend over and forced his face down onto the floor. He stood up with his foot on Iffy's back, not letting him up however much he struggled, well aware that in Iffy's attempts to breath were meaning his mouth was being filled with the muck on the floor.

"You want the streets, Iffy? This is the streets! Taste the bloody streets!"

He released the pressure and let Iffy breath. "You're supposed to be my friend!" yelled the floored boy.

"I /am/ your friend, you stupid bugger!" Vimes roared back, "I'm telling you that you're changing, changing into something foul and horrible and narrow-minded and I'm telling you to stop. Call this thing off about Spider tonight; just leave it, Iffy! We can go back to how it used to be, me and you and a couple of the others just hanging about. Not robbing shops and bullying frightened old ladies. That's all you do at night with the rest of them."

For a moment it looked as if Iffy might agree but then whatever spark of remembrance that had been briefly kindled died in his eyes and he pulled himself together.

"Get lost Sam Vimes," he said, standing up, "Just go away."

Vimes held eye contact for a moment and then turned on his heel and stalked off. Iffy watched him go trying to bury his doubt. Big Dave stepped out from where he had been lurking. "Are we still on Iffy?"

"Yeah, we're still on Dave. But Vimesy's sitting this one out."

  
  


Vimes came to a halt a few streets later and collapsed against a wall feeling as if someone had replaced his insides with lead. Something clinked in his pocket against the brick work. Iffy's knife. He pulled it out, tossed upwards. It spun three times in the air before he caught it. He started back again, best to give it back now...

The fight had already started judging from the noise. Vimes peered around a street corner. The Skats outnumbered Spider's lads two to one. Spider was down already, by Iffy's hand or someone else Vimes didn't know; and as he saw one of the Skats draw his knife and start towards Iffy Vimes realised he didn't care. He stepped into the alley and ran towards them.

Vimes kicked the boy with the knife hard and he dropped it. He bought his fist round and smacked Iffy's assailant hard in the stomach. Turning, he ducked under someone else's wild swing and came up underneath with a jab to their chin. They fell backwards into someone else. Next to Vimes Big Dave had pushed someone to the floor. Iffy was bleeding heavily from a cut above his eye and his one arm hung at a strange angle. 

"Come on, Iffy. Let's go," said Vimes and helped him away down a side street. He walked Iffy all the way home, supporting him as his legs trembled and knocking on the door to summon his mother.

"Oh my goodness!" said Mrs. Scurrick, "Whatever happened?"

"We got caught in a fight, Mrs. Scurrick," said Vimes, "Can I come in?"

He lead Iffy over to a chair while his mother rummaged for bandages and ointment. "You're right Sam," muttered Iffy in a low voice, so his mother didn't hear, "You're right. When they came down the street and I looked at 'em, at the Skats, I realised that you're right. I don't want to be like that... it's not worth it. They're just thugs, really, aren't they? I couldn't see... until one of them knifed Spider... and then I realised..." Iffy was crying now, and Vimes's conscience said that he should be sympathetic but something rebelled. 

"You owe me one," Vimes said, nodded to Mrs. Scurrick, and walked away.

  
  


It was a few weeks later and Vimes was surprised by Iffy as he came out of school again. 

"Hello," he said carefully.

"Alright Vimesy," said Iffy, equally as gingerly. Vimes looked at him more carefully and blinked in shock. 

"You've joined the Watch?" he said.

"Yeah," Iffy said, slightly shamefacedly, "I thought about what you said, and I thought it was a good idea... you know.. I'd be able to keep the streets safer. From people like the Skats. And you get free food and a uniform and you can pick up an extra dollar here and there."

"That's great."

"Maybe you should join when you leave school. When do you leave, by the way?" said Iffy.

"A month," said Vimes.

"Well, there you go then. We could go for a drink..." There was an invitation hanging in the air and Vimes thought for a few moments.

"Yeah, alright," he said, "Not just at the moment, Iffy, but some time soon. We can catch up on all the news. Just like old times."

"Great," said Iffy, his face clearing and his stiff shoulders relaxing, revealing just how anxious he had been. He glanced at his watch. "I'd better go, got to get on duty," he said with a hint of a grin. "See you around Sam."

"Yeah, see you Iffy."


	3. Happy Ending

Vimes sat cross-legged on the grass in front of the grave in the cool spring air. It was becoming something of a tradition to spend the evening of the twenty-fifth of May here in quiet contemplation. Someone called out behind him, jerking him out of his reverie. He half-turned to see Iffy Scurrick picking his way carefully across the cemetery. "I thought you might be here," he said.

"Yeah," said Vimes sadly, standing up.

"Come on," said Iffy, "Let's go get a drink." Vimes nodded and followed him across the graveyard. Now twenty one, he was taller than Iffy; and these days it was Vimes that sported the stubble and Iffy was clean shaven. They strolled in silence down the darkening streets.

"Where're we going Iffy?" said Vimes.

"Oh, not the usual," said Iffy, "There's someone I want you to meet..." He gave Vimes a sideways look. "Congratulations by the way," he added.

"What?" said Vimes, mind still on planet Keele, brain still supplying the images of horror from half a decade past.

"/Corporal/ Vimes. Well on the way up the promotion ladder, or so they say."

"Er, yeah," said Vimes, uncomfortably aware that Iffy was still only a Constable despite being older and having served for longer. "So who are we meeting?" he said after a few more moments of thoughtful silence.

"Er.. Well, I want you to meet her. See what you think of her."

"She's a girl?" said Vimes surprised.

"No! She's a llama! For goodness sake Sam, keep up with the plot."

"Sorry," said Vimes.

They walked on. "Hey, we're here," said Iffy, tapping Vimes on the shoulder. It was a tavern like any other in this area of Ankh-Morpork, not Vimes's customary boozer, but similar enough. He stepped inside, his feet rustling the rushes on the floor that were quite fresh by normal city standards. 

"She's over there," hissed Iffy, indicating the girl with his eyes.

Vimes stared at his friend in amazement. "You fancy the /barmaid?/"

"Yeah, what's wrong with her?" demanded Iffy, instantly outraged.

"Oh, nothing, nothing," said Vimes quickly, "Just surprised me. That's all."

"Sit here," said Iffy, pushing Vimes into a chair, "I'll go get the drinks..."

Some time later Vimes gave up on trying to focus on the forest of glasses in front of them. In theory it had been sensible for Iffy to make the trips up to the bar to try and engage the pretty barmaid in conversation. However, as Iffy couldn't manage more than to stutter their orders, thus all they were achieving was a state of extreme drunkenness.

"I go and get the drinksh," Iffy managed before slumping onto the table.

"I'll go," said Vimes, slightly more sober (and being taller able to hold his drink a bit better) He staggered over to the bar and stared glassily at the object of Iffy's desire. She was pretty enough, smiling and flirty and Vimes decided he liked her.

"What can I do for you, sir?" she said as he leaned against the bar.

"Haha, nothing for me," said Vimes, "It's just that... my mate really fancies you..." He gestured to the young watchman who raised his head muzzily from the table and grinned weakly.

The barmaid laughed and leaned closer to Sam Vimes. "I know," she said.

"Oh," said Vimes, nonplussed. "Er, will you go out with him then?"

"What's his name?" she asked.

Vimes thought for a moment. "Iffy," he said.

"My name's Janie. If you want to, you can walk me home after I come off shift. I know I can trust two guardsmen like yourselves to behave."

Vimes nodded. 

Time flowed inexorably onwards; as it always has and will do. Iffy somehow managed to overcome his tongue-tied nervousness and ask Janie out on a second date and Vimes suffered the terrible awkwardness of being 'the third wheel' as his mother put it on every social occasion. He bore it with a stoic patience and perhaps as a reward for his long-suffering when Iffy finally worked up the courage to ask Janie to marry him he was appointed best man. 

Sam Vimes quite enjoyed being best man. It was a great opportunity to meet girls, and the bridesmaids weren't allowed to resist his uneasy advances very much, due to the constraints of common courtesy. He'd got Sergeant Kepple to help him with the speech and everyone had admitted it was fairly good.

So now Iffy was a married man. This fact was bought home to Sam Vimes when they met up for lunch one afternoon. Iffy, rather bashfully, pulled out his lunch. It was wrapped neatly in a pristine white square of cloth. The sandwich had a sprig of parsley on top and all the crusts cut off. And there was still a slice of wedding cake.

"Haven't you eaten all that stuff yet?" said Vimes as he bit into his own lunch, a steaming hot pie of suspicious organs from a street vendor.

"Nope," replied Iffy, "I think we'll still have some left by the time our anniversary rolls around. How are you anyway? I heard you were in a fight last week, when Maroon got killed."

"Yeah," said Vimes with a sigh, "I was. I've been to see his widow today. I gave her some money actually. Didn't seem fair somehow the fact that she gets no money after all the years of service her old man's given."

"You're a good man, Sam Vimes," said Iffy with a laugh, "Better than me, I'm sure."

"Course I am," replied Vimes, "That's why you're the one with all the cake."

"Ah Sam, I'm sure you'll find the girl for you one of these days."

"Don't be so bloody optimistic," said Sam, only half-joking.


	4. So This Is Goodbye

Vimes was sitting with his feet up in the Watch House when the runner came bursting through the door, bringing into the warm room the wet and the cold of the streets.

"Riot in Elm Street! All officers!" gasped the luckless messenger. Despite being off duty Sam Vimes leapt to his feet and hurriedly buckled his sword belt around his skinny middle before running out into the foul night. All officers meant all officers. You had to hope that when it was /your / arse on the line in the future someone else would do the same for you.

Vimes could hardly see in the driving rain that forced his eyes into slits but he ran on down the wet streets as fast as he could. Elm Street was full of shouts and flickering torches. Vimes wondered what the hell was going on, and then he realised. Or perhaps that should be /remembered/. In the days of Winder and Snapcase street gangs had grown into a force to be reckoned with. It wasn't Watch policy to get involved in such scuffles, but someone had obviously decided enough was enough, someone had tried to bring a bit of law and order back to the streets. Vimes wondered who it was as he lurked in the shadows. Best to wait until some other officers caught up before attempting a rescue.

His heart sank as he discovered the identity of the idealist. It was Iffy, fighting off at least three men in the colours of one of the nastier street gangs. He should have /known/. It was always Iffy that got into trouble for involvement in the street scraps. He had a bit of an obsession with it to be honest. Vimes had often wondered whether it was guilt driving him to make all the arrests, a way of paying back the city for the misdeeds he had committed as a younger man.

Vimes leapt into the fray with a cry all thoughts of his own safety forgotten. Iffy was married, and had been hinting recently that he might be a father some time soon. Vimes could not let him die. Janie would never forgive him...

Vimes took down three men with his sword. Recently he had been taking lessons in combat from Gussie Two Grins, the dirtiest fighter Vimes had ever had the fortune to battle on the same side as. Gussie had taught him a thing or two, and Keele's original training, complete with Vimes's own experience meant he had the advantage of considerable more skill than any of his opponents. This advantage evaporated when you remembered that the few Watchman still standing in the melee were outnumbered five to one.

Someone kicked his sword out of his hands and he punched them in the face, sending his other hand thrusting into his pocket to pull out the knuckledusters. He elbowed someone else in the throat as the frantic ringing of bells echoed in the wet night air. Vimes was on automatic pilot as he fought, letting the beast do its work. It was clear he needed to escape, there was no way to fight off this many opponents for any length of time, but currently they weren't allowing him the option of fleeing.

A hail of arrows sent Vimes diving to the floor. Now was his chance. He crawled over to Iffy as quickly as he dared, in serious danger of being shot. Iffy wasn't moving and Vimes felt the icy fingers of fear grip at his heart.

"Iffy?" he whispered and the man's eyelids flickered. His face was curiously grey in the flickering orange light and Vimes suddenly realised it wasn't only the pouring rain that was soaking his friend's clothes and staining his chain mail. It was blood too.

"Sam..." managed Iffy through blue lips, his voice thick with pain. 

"It's me," said Vimes, finding his friend's hands and taking them in his own. They were far too cold. "Let's get you out of here," Vimes said. The fighting seemed to have moved away from where they lay to further down the street. In one fluid movement Vimes picked his friend up, swung Iffy onto his shoulder and ran for an alley. An arrow passed so close he felt his hair ruffle and he carried on running until the sounds of the mob had died away, and there was only the hissing of the rain on the cobbles.

"Iffy!" said Vimes urgently as he deposited his friend back on the floor. "Iffy!"

"I can't see you Sam," said Iffy in the same thick voice. Vimes gripped his hands again. 

"I'm here Iffy," said Vimes, his own voice choked, but with tears rather than injury.

"I think I'm dying Sam," rasped Iffy.

"No! You're not!" Vimes almost shouted, "You'll be fine. I'll get you to a doctor. Where are you hurt?"

"Sam," said Iffy with more urgency, "Tell Janie that I love her." Vimes couldn't find his voice, he couldn't think of anything else to say, a terrible emotion had laid claim to his heart and had taken his voice too. "Thanks for everything you've done Sam," whispered the dying man, "Look after Janie for me... brother.."

"Of course I will Iffy. Of course I will... brother."

Iffy smiled and Vimes stifled the cry of horror as he saw the blood trickling from the corner of Iffy's mouth. Iffy coughed; the smile faded to a grimace of pain and then Vimes felt the pulse in the cold hands stutter and fail. A numb disbelief settled over Sam Vimes as he knelt on the cobbles with his friend's lifeless body spread out before him, his still warm fingers clutching Vimes's own. He turned his face up towards the night and howled as the rain trickled down his face mingling with the tears. The blood soaked his hands, some of it Iffy's and some of it his own from unregarded wounds caused in the fight. Vimes stared at it, sobbing, and was reminded of tomato juice.

  
  


Iffy stood up in a world full of violet shadows.

"IFFY SCURRICK?" said a voice behind him. Iffy turned.

"Oh," he said, "I didn't think I was going to survive. Not after he stuck the knife in my stomach.. And my chest.. And the blow to the head..."

"YOU WERE CORRECT"

A noise on the edge of Iffy's hearing made him peer into the shadows. "That's Sam, isn't it?" he said.

"YES," replied Death,

"What happens to him now? Can you tell me?"

"NO," said Death, "IT IS TIME FOR YOU TO COME AWAY NOW. THE DEAD ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO MEDDLE IN THE AFFAIRS OF THE LIVING. IT UPSETS PEOPLE."

"But I want to help him! He's my friend."

Death considered this for a moment, and the Discworld was suddenly given the prospect of its very own Vimes and Scurrick (Deceased) (1). But Iffy's shadow was already fading as he slipped away to whatever afterlife awaited him. Death turned his attention to the crying man briefly and pulled out a lifetimer. Unfortunately it had at least sixty years worth of sand left in the top bulb, so it looked like duty demanded his presence elsewhere.

  
  


1. If you haven't watched the programme Randall And Hopkirk Deceased, the Vic Reeves version or otherwise, this joke doesn't make a lot of sense. 


	5. Memory

His Grace, His Excellency, Commander Sir Samuel Vimes paced his living room, his brow creased in thought. Lady Sybil sighed.

"Just go Sam. No one's going to miss you for half an hour."

"Are you sure, dear?"

"You can take Sam if you want. I'm sure he'd enjoy a walk."

Vimes hesitated. He was perfectly happy to change nappies, get up in the middle of the night, and even clean up various bodily fluids. But he drew the line at pushing the huge black pram down the street. He preferred to carry Sam around with him, but it was a long walk to the Small Gods Cemetery. Sybil smiled slightly and solved his dilemma. "I tell you what, we'll all go," she said. 

A few minutes later the Vimes family were walking slowly up the road towards the Temple of Small Gods. Sybil halted outside the gates. "I'll just be walking through the grounds," she said. "You can meet us here when you've finished."

"Thanks Sybil," said Vimes, planting a kiss on his wife's cheek, "I won't be long." He made his way carefully towards the grave. There was a figure standing in front of it, dressed in a long cape and bonnet. She turned as Vimes coughed politely behind her.

"Sam!" she said warmly, "It's been a long time."

"Janie,"said Vimes, hugging her, "It's good to see you."

"I thought you would have bought your son," said Janie.

"I have," said Vimes with a touch of pride, "He's with my wife at the moment. She thought I might like some time alone."

"We've come a long way, haven't we Sam? It's been twenty five years..."

"I know," said Vimes, thinking how far he had come. 

After Iffy's death he had started drinking, although it hadn't been until the death of Corporal Curry that Vimes had really hit the bottle hard. Iffy's death had been a marker stone in the history of the Watch, the beginning of the end in Vimes's eyes. After Iffy had gone the job had lost some of its meaning somehow, and slowly numbers had dwindled and men had died and eventually there had just been three of them left. Then, of course, he had met Lady Sybil (a fairly major milestone in his personal history) and Carrot had joined the Watch (more of a milestone for the Watch itself). After that things tended to brighten up, for both of them standing by the grave. The beginning of the Widows and Orphans Fund meant Mrs. Scurrick had more money than the four dollars a week Vimes had given her on his measly Captain's pay. And Vimes had so much more than he could ever have hoped for, a wife, a son, power, money, comfort... he wished Iffy was here to see it all, and share it.

Lady Sybil was waiting for him, and Janie smiled at him and took her leave. But Vimes stayed for just a few moments longer, waiting for he didn't know what. A shaft of light broke through the clouds that filled the sky, it played on the name on the headstone. Iffy Scurrick, Beloved Husband, Son and Brother. Vimes had added the last bit himself, paid for the lettering out of his own pocket. He thought Iffy would appreciate it.

"I wish you were here, mate," Vimes muttered, "I wish you could have seen it all. I really do."

Then he turned away from the grave and walked slowly back to Lady Sybil and the smiling face of his future, ignoring that tiny part of his heart that remained still weeping for those buried along with the past.

  
  


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Finished! Hope you enjoyed it... I have to confess a fascination for delving into our beloved Commander's past so rest assured some more fics will be coming... I have a little series planned investigating just how Sam Vimes and Lady Sybil ever managed to get together! Thanks for reading, please REVIEW ('cos I love feedback so much!) and thanks to those who've reviewed all my previous fics, your input it greatly appreciated - Lunar.


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